


another head hangs lowly

by ElasticElla



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hellhound dies under La Bête's paws, ripped to shreds, and the fate of the world shifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another head hangs lowly

**Author's Note:**

> for 2. apocalypse/dystopian au & title from the cranberries' zombie

The Hellhound dies under La Bête's paws, ripped to shreds, and the fate of the world shifts. 

It sounds almost poetic like that, clean. Like a new world order just sprung into being, and the rest merely disappeared. 

She almost wishes it, can't unsee all the violence. The banshee _would not stop screaming_ , and Tracy forgot to be remorseful when the beast silenced her next. Forgets to do anything but run, far, far away. 

Once she would have been brave, once she would have fought. But that was before she knew the cold embrace of death, and she's not going back there, not for fools who don't know to run from an inevitable doom. 

She trades cars in Oregon, doesn't stop until Washington. Theo's car was safer in the legal sense, the owner was already dead, but she couldn't keep inhaling her old alpha's scent. It made her want to turn around, to double check they were all really gone- and that, that would get her killed. She's a survivor, she thinks, when she hot-wires the gray volvo. 

She convinces herself that La Bête will stay in Beacon Hills. After all, the nemeton or dread doctors would keep it there and if a few hundred people died well, it wasn't the world. 

And she's sitting in a diner Washington, deciding if she should go to an island and hope for the best or keep running on land, when there's an urgent report on the tiny tv. The Beast flashes across the screen, only just caught on camera before revealing a destroyed kindergarten. The terrified news anchor says they're reporting from Arizona, and Tracy's stomach turns. 

The Beast is free. 

Fuck.

(It _had_ to be kids. She's tried to crush out the last of her sympathy, but it keeps pushing back, like weeds slipping through concrete.)

.

Beacon Hills is a ghost town thick with corpses. She recognizes too many of them, forces herself not to feel. Feelings wouldn't save the day any faster, would only get her killed. 

She starts with Theo's house anyways, tells herself she'll go to Deaton's next. There's an envelope on the mantle with her name on it and a familiar syringe filled with orange. 

_Tracy-_

_Congratulations, you outlasted me. If you're reading this it means the Beast killed me and probably the doctors too. Only an Argent will be able to kill it, you must revive one of them. Deaton tells me Marie's ashes were scattered over the Seine but her doppelganger, Allison Argent, is buried in Beacon Hills._

_Happy hunting._

It's just impersonal enough to make her teeth grit, and she knows it's by design. It wouldn't be difficult to find his body, and perhaps if she did he would know where more of the doctor's miracle elixir was. If that were true though, he would have left two syringes. 

Unless he knew- no. It doesn't matter, she must wake the huntress. 

.

Under a crooked moon and hidden stars, Allison Argent is reborn. 

It only takes her fifteen minutes, the time to get from the nemeton back to where civilization was for Allison to turn to her with startled eyes. 

“What is this hell? Are we the only ones here?”

Tracy shakes her head, eyes not leaving the huntress's hands. “Someone woke up La Bête du Gévaudan.” 

Laughter cracks past Allison's lips, cold and cruel. “You revived the wrong huntress, I only look like my ancestor.”

Tracy shrugs, ignoring the chill that creeps down her spine. “You're humanity's last chance.” 

“No pressure,” Allison mutters and Tracy smiles.

“What do you need?”

With a heavy exhale, she straightens up, a new determination in her stale scent. “Let's start with a spear.” 

...humanity's fucked. 

.

La Bête dies under Allison's spear, it's enormous heart extracted with a heavy thump. 

It sounds final like that, clean. 

Like it wasn't a child they'll never know ended once again, like the others will wake up now. Like they didn't sacrifice a few thousand people to finally trap the beast.

It takes them a year to find the doctors' lair- the real one, not the one her and Theo had been invited into once upon a time- and there isn't a glimmer of orange anywhere. Not a single damn speck, or even a notebook. 

Allison takes it better than she does, has already accepted the two and a half states being dead. She was _so sure_ they were going to find it, had convinced herself it didn't matter that she ran because she came back, because she could fix it. 

For the first time in ages, she prefers her dreams to the waking world. 

.

They live together in Beacon Hills because it's easy and hollow. The nemeton doesn't need to lure them, and the rest of the world is too terrified to come any closer. 

They trade kisses sometimes, cold and slow with even colder fingertips tracing porcelain faces. They go for days without speaking, and the silence helps build the illusion. 

It's easier, these days, to be undead.


End file.
